


Silver

by ingoldamn



Series: Silmarillion Character Studies [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Introspective Weirdness, M/M, allusions to sexy times between men, basically trying to build the relationship between annatar and celebrimbor, hints of sauron in annatar, i dunno what to tag this as, or between male-presenting individuals, so sauron's betrayal will really hurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-04
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-04-02 21:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4074100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ingoldamn/pseuds/ingoldamn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Eregion, years and years after their deaths and disappearence, resting in the arms of Annatar, Telperinquar lets himself speak of his father and his uncles - of their cruelty and of silver.</p><p>(Silver. Always silver. Silver haunts his nightmares).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Quantumphysica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantumphysica/gifts).



> dedicated to quantumphysica whose comments on my last silm fic helped inspire this (even though it wasn't exactly what you wanted me to write - I am still working on the other one, don't worry!) 
> 
> also everyone should read their story A Borrowed Voice because it is, quite frankly, amazing!

Everyone suffers cruelty in their lives. It is one of the many unspoken truths of the world.

Telperinquar knows this better than anyone. Has often been a victim of cruelty, of malice, or seen others suffer in like manner.

After all he grew up with his father and his grandfather and his uncles, all of them brimming with malice, with the need to hurt. Sometimes, when they got tired of hurting each other and the rest of the world, they would turn on him with their harsh words and their cold, silver eyes.

For years he cannot look at his own reflection in the mirrors – he looks too much like his father, like his grandfather, with his dark hair and his silver eyes.

(Silver. It’s always silver. Silver haunts his nightmares. He just about screamed when Narví first showed him mithril).

He does not speak of it to anyone, thinking it too personal, too fleeting, too figurative, too inexplainable, until he sits as king of his own land, his family long gone, and a beautiful stranger comes to him.

He knows everything, it seems, such a teacher he is (Telperinquar wonders to himself what madness made Elrond and Ereinion turn him away from their lands, but then silently thanks the Valar for it).

Annatar is gentle and Annatar is wise and Annatar is so completely unlike everyone else who has ever pretended to care about Telperinquar that he can hardly be blamed for giving his heart and soul away so freely.

(Annatar is golden. Annatar wears only greens and reds. Never silver. No silver.)

With Annatar he feels safe, he feels loved, cherished, and he is free to remember, without fearing judgement.

Remembering how his father always seemed to relish in his cruelty; sly and self-serving, as he was, his heart made of ice and shadow and freezing silver (Telperinquar hates working with silver because it always reminds him of that gleam of cruelty in his father’s dark eyes – Annatar does not laugh when he tells him). Curufinwë was a great smith, but his true talent was with words, sometimes harsh, sometimes soft; he always knew how to twist the truth into something ugly and terrible; he spun lies that made people trust him, and then he ruined them, laughing, leaving them to die. He manipulated people, delighted in twisting their thoughts to suit his own purposes, enjoyed ruining friendships and turning love to hate. (Only Ingoldo could ever stand against him, with his gentle smile and his all-seeing eyes and his never-ending patience – only from him did Curufinwë tolerate sweetness and truths and soft touches).

(Not a single day goes by where Telperinquar does not fear the darkness he has inherited from his father).

(Annatar listens quietly, stroking Telperinquar’s hair, no judgement on his face. No silver gleam in his eyes).

Telperinquar whispers of his father’s favourite brother, his own least-beloved uncle, crass and uncaring Tyelkormo, who was well aware of his own cruelty, although he was less subtle than Curufinwë, less refined. Where Telperinquar’s father was all shadows and depths and strange traps and walls built so tall and so strong that no one could ever reach his heart, Tyelkormo seemed to have far more of their father’s passion in his veins. He was loud and rash, and rarely thought before he spoke – at least not until they had lived in Arda for many, many years.

(Uncle Tyelko’s hair was golden and his skin was tan and his eyes were blue like the summersky, but his armour was silver and so was his sword).

And then he speaks of the uncles he spent less time with:

Of Makalaurë, whose cruelty was subtle, as everything about him was. Makalaurë’s cruelty was whispered rumours, spreading from the servant’s quarters to the kitchen to the guards to the people in the streets, until someone’s reputation and entire livelihood was ruined forever, often over small slights. And no one ever blamed Makalaurë for he was but a poet with soft words and soft hands. But Telperinquar knows better, has himself heard mean-spirited poems and songs performed by the man himself (even he, the poet, is associated with silver in Telperinquar’s mind – whenever he thinks of Makalaurë, he thinks of the silver wedding ring on his left hand).

Of Amras and Amrod, who, as far as he remembers, were much like Tyelkormo. Loud and happy, and they delighted in humiliating people whenever they could. Pushing people into the river and running away, laughing, their silver eyes dancing with mirth. That sort of thing. It was not particularly sophisticated, but then again, neither were they (after Losgar, Amras lost his cruel streak. He lost everything in fact. No one ever mentioned it and Telperinquar learned to live with a silence that somehow shone like silver).

(Silver. Always, always silver).

He talks of Carnistir, whose death he mourns still, whose cruelty was wanting everyone else to feel his pain, when he got angry. He took delight in making other people as angry, as he was himself most of the time (but, Telperinquar adds, he was also the most considerate of them all, the one with the strongest morals).

(For once, he only thinks fleetingly of silver. Carnistir wore blue and copper. Rarely silver).

He saves Maitimo for last.

(Even thinking of him, of his scarred face, is enough to make Telperinquar shiver, remembering the silver circlet in his red hair, remembering the silver necklace around his neck, remembering his silver shield and his silver armour).

Maitimo, he says, was the worst of them all. The cruellest. Because Maitimo had in him Curufinwë’s subtlety, Makalaurë’s pettiness, Carnistir’s anger, Tyelkormo’s brashness, and Ambarussa’s inconsiderateness; and he knew it. He knew it and he fought it with every fiber in his being. He wished to hide it. He wanted his men to adore him – wanted to be revered as a good and strong and kind leader. But ever since Thangorodrim, his countenance was ruined and people feared him. The bitterness in his heart showed on his face and he was no longer beautiful. His words grew harsh and cold, almost hateful sometimes, and they cut like knives. He grew to be much like Curufinwë, in fact, with sharp eyes that saw every crack in the wall, every weakness, every wound, and used it against people. In the end, only his brothers liked him.

(Annatar lets out a sound that might be a sigh or might be a gentle laugh when Telperinquar mentions Thangorodrim. Telperinquar wonders, but thinks nothing of it, because Annatar pushes him back on the pillows and distracts him with lips and hands and teeth).

(‘I think, they broke me,’ Telperinquar admits when they are spent, and then repeats with more certainty, ‘they broke me.’

‘You are not broken,’ murmurs Annatar against his skin, ‘you are beautiful, strong.’ He looks up and his eyes flash silver for but a moment. Telperinquar thinks he dreamed it, it disappears so fast. ‘Mine.’

 ‘Yours,’ Telperinquar agrees).

**Author's Note:**

> hope y'all liked it. do leave a review - constructive criticism is encouraged, of course.
> 
> as always, you're free to hit me up on [tumblr](http://fratboy-of-orome.tumblr.com)
> 
> thanks for reading (and for leaving kudos and/or a review) xxx.


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